


unquantifiable

by ictus



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Begging, Breathplay, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Clark sees a different side of Bruce.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 197
Collections: fandomtrees





	unquantifiable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy this little treat. Many thanks to Mossy_Bench for the beta!

Clark thinks he might be on the cusp of figuring Bruce out, of understanding the distinct facets of his personality.

As Bruce Wayne, Bruce is two hundred pounds of veiled insults and smarmy charisma, poured into an eighteen-hundred-dollar suit. As the Bat of Gotham, Bruce is an unstoppable force of vengeance and brutality, cloaked in darkness.

But this man who Clark sees before him—this man who’s bent over the workbench, his hands desperately scrabbling for purchase, who’s arching back to meet Clark’s every thrust—

Clark can’t quantify him.

“God,” Bruce bites out, his breath stuttering as Clark fucks into him. Then, “Please—” he whispers, and Clark’s rhythm damn near falters. Because regardless of the many faces Bruce wears, the numerous guises he adopts, Clark has never, _ever_ heard him beg for anything. The thought makes his blood run hot, makes him want to press Bruce’s face into the workbench and fuck him as hard as he _wishes_ he could, with all of his strength unchecked.

But they both know what Bruce is asking for, and Clark isn’t in any position to deny him. So he pulls Bruce upright so their bodies are flush, pressed chest to back, and slowly rakes his nails up Bruce’s stomach, over his pecs, until his hand comes to rest on Bruce’s throat. It’s a perfect fit. Clark’s thumb and forefinger resting against Bruce’s jaw, his broad palm spanning Bruce’s throat, like they were made for each other. Clark hasn’t exerted any pressure yet, but just the threat of it has Bruce’s head falling back on Clark’s shoulder, his eyes sliding shut in surrender.

Clark keeps his hand there, his thrusts slowing to a grind, because he’s waiting for it, because he wants to hear Bruce say it. Bruce’s lips are parted like he’s trying to force the words but they won’t come, so Clark squeezes _just_ so, just enough to feel Bruce’s racing pulse against his fingertips.

Maybe it’s the thought that Clark could snap Bruce’s neck in a heartbeat, if he were so inclined. Maybe it’s the idea that Clark could strangle Bruce in his own workshop, and no amount of fighting would save him. But when Clark presses on Bruce’s throat, Bruce _shudders_ , a full-body tremor that has him tightening around Clark’s cock like he’s trying to milk him dry. Clark’s own composure wavers, and the temptation to bend Bruce back over the benchtop is almost overwhelming.

But he’s waiting. Waiting for Bruce, waiting for—

“Clark _please_ ,” Bruce says, more whine than articulation, and Clark doesn’t dare disobey. He squeezes Bruce’s throat, his fingers tight under Bruce’s jaw, and holds him fast. Bruce’s entire body locks up like he’s trying to hold himself still, trying to fight the urge to fight, and he feels so good around Clark’s cock that Clark himself is a little breathless. Clark begins rocking into Bruce again, short, shallow thrusts that are more for his own pleasure than Bruce’s, not letting up the pressure on Bruce’s throat for a second.

Even though Bruce is arching against Clark, even though he has no leverage to speak of, Bruce is still pressing back against Clark, like he’s trying to force him deeper. Clark gets into a rhythm, fucking Bruce with measured snaps of his hips, a steady pace that has Bruce writhing against him. Bruce is begging with his body, desperation written all over his face, but Clark is a patient man. He can hold out a little longer.

As soon as the thought occurs to him, Bruce’s hand is finding Clark’s, grasping it suddenly, urgently, and Clark thinks the pressure, it’s too much, Bruce really _can’t_ breathe—

But then Bruce’s lips form a word. It’s almost soundless, barely more than a whisper, but Clark’s hearing catches it anyway:

“ _Please._ ”

And as Clark finally gives Bruce what he wants and fucks him with full force, Clark realises he’s no closer to quantifying him than when they first met.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
